Allow me to begin with Bradley Salazar. He was driving his turquoise blue Ford 350 dual-wheeled pickup truck well above the posted speed limit, winding through the curved mountain roads with precision, deftly managing the downward, plunging contours of roadway and growling the truck up the sudden inclines so common in the Catskills. Inside the cab, Bradley maintained rhythm on the steering wheel with the aggressive hard rock blaring from the speakers. He did not sing along but grooved his dark head and thick neck with the relentless bass, his eyes squinting behind a pair of Oakley sunglasses. The evening summer sun hung precariously behind him in deep reds, dousing the whole world in a cruel glow.
Bradley’s truck came off an incline and leveled out with the road as he passed the first of two speed limit signs indicating that he had entered the town and village of Hunter. Bradley took no notice, and the vehicle maintained its speed. It took nearly a mile for him to notice the emergency lights in his rear-view mirror, and almost another half mile for him to slow down and stop as the police car behind him began spitting its siren noises and goose honks. He took one furtive glance toward the back of the cab, swallowed hard, and turned his head forward. He slid the Oakleys from his eyes, laying them across the dashboard. Then, cutting the radio off mid-song, he rolled down both windows and placed his hands on the steering wheel. He waited, staring straight ahead.
Moving just his eyes, Bradley picked up the cop in the rear-view mirror exiting a Dodge Durango. The cop placed a Stetson on his head, taking a moment to straighten it. Bradley watched as the officer then considered his approach before he retreated behind the Durango, coming up the passenger side. Bradley’s eyes shifted to catch the image of the officer in the passenger side mirror. The cop moved ungainly with big steps in baggy pants and the outer carrier Kevlar vest was like a hula-hoop around his chest. As the cop came closer, Bradley could even see that the Stetson sat on his head like a bucket. Finally, the officer arrived at the door of the truck.
“Good afternoon, Officer Ellis, town police,” the cop’s voice said from the passenger window.
Bradley could see in his periphery that the cop was tactically positioned behind the B-pillar. A sharp grin cut through Bradley’s lips, his eyes dancing in their sockets. Maintaining his body position, Bradley swiveled his head toward the window. The smile melted from his face as his eyes connected with the cop. Officer Ellis had pudgy, youthful cheeks and wide, staring eyes. He stood straight at attention and Bradley thought he might have been holding his breath.
“I observed your vehicle going over the posted speed limit,” Officer Ellis said. “May I see your license and registration, please?” The words were deliberate and rhythmic; well-rehearsed.
Bradley smiled innocently. “My wallet is in my right rear pocket; can I reach for it?”
“Yes, you can.” Officer Ellis drew himself closer, his head peeking inside the cab as much as it was able.
Bradley’s eyes grew larger as he studied the young cop. He was trying to decide whether Officer Ellis suspected anything. The guilty part of Bradley’s conscience, however slight, fought to remain locked on the cop and not on the backseat. After a moment, Bradley leaned to the left and slowly moved his right hand so that he could dig his wallet from his rear pocket. He opened it and retrieved his license and a second plastic card. Holding the second card between his fingers, he noticed the fading image, especially around the edges. He flipped it over and noticed the ink signature on the back was smudged, but legible. His smile dissolved as he passed both to the cop. Officer Ellis accepted the documents and considered them.
“And your registration card?” he asked, looking back up.
“That’s in the center here,” Bradley said and pointed at the console next to him. “Can I open it?”
This time the cop nodded, his eyes growing even wider, his focus training on Bradley’s hand as it hovered above the latch. Bradley grinned as he opened the lid and dug through the space. After a moment, he produced the orange-colored slip of paper. He handed that over, too. Officer Ellis looked at the registration along with the license and the other plastic card. He took hold of the microphone positioned in the center of his chest.
“Greene 911, Hunter seven-zero.” He waited for a response. “Separate CID.” He read the numbers from Bradley Salazar’s license. “Check for validity.”
Bradley relaxed in his seat and looked the cop over some more. His face was soft, and razor burnt with bulbous eyes and dry, chapped lips. As he waited for the response to his inquiry, the cop kept his eyes on Bradley and Bradley heard the cop’s deep, rushed breaths. Bradley turned himself all the way around in his seat, looking out the back window of the truck, looking for another officer, but he did not see anyone. He stole a telling glance toward the back seat—to the mound of plastic under the bench. Bradley returned to his original position and noticed the cop looking down again at the three items in his hand.
“Hunter seven-zero, that CID returns to a Bradley Salazar subject, date of birth June 6, 1996. Both he and the vehicle are valid, negative wants,” a disembodied voice said through the microphone. Officer Ellis acknowledged the transmission.
The cop looked up. “Who’s Veronica to you?” he asked.
“My mother,” Bradley said.
“How long has she been a trooper?”
“She did like thirty-something years. She’s retired.”
Officer Ellis shuffled the cards in his hands for a moment and said, “My dad was a cop, too. But he never gave me a courtesy card.”
“Sounds like a mean son of a bitch,” Bradley said.
“I don’t know,” the cop said. His face dropped into a frown.
“Where’d he work?”
“For the town. He was the Police Chief.”
“Then I guess you wouldn’t really need a card around here then.”
“Wasn’t around here. But I couldn’t get into much trouble where I was.”
“Convent?” Bradley asked. He chuckled with some good nature.
The cop did a double take. He was examining the contents of his hand, weighing some choice in his mind. Bradley saw the indecision gathering behind Officer Ellis’ whittled brow. Bradley’s expression became grim and expectant.
“I’m sure any cop would done him a favor if you needed it,” Bradley said.
Officer Ellis did not respond immediately. After a pregnant pause, he said, “He wasn’t big on giving favors. He wouldn’t have wanted one on my behalf.”
Bradley cracked a half smile. “Would he have wanted one for me?”
Officer Ellis responded quickly, “Probably not.”
Bradley pouted briefly before a smile again crawled up his face. “Listen, Officer Ellis, I haven’t ever been a cop. But I grew up with one in my house. You look new, right? You want to fit in with your buddies, eh? Well, I’ve been stopped here many times and never got a ticket. My mom used to work up here, and they all know her. You don’t want to be the guy who opens a can of worms. Over me? I don’t think so. There are plenty of other people to stop and give tickets to. Some of them might even have some bad shit in the car. I can tell you; this isn’t the one you want. So maybe don’t think of it as you are doing me a favor, think of it as me doing you a favor. I can make this decision very easy for you.”
Officer Ellis regarded the words for a long time with his eyes fixed on Bradley. He glanced down at the license, the registration, and the courtesy card in his hand. Finally, he presented Bradley with his paperwork. Bradley reached across the cab and took all three documents back. His smile faded as the cop began to back away from the truck, moving toward the Durango. Bradley shook his head and made a derisive snort. He looked at his backseat again, the plastic stuffed beneath the bench. Bradley exhaled a long breath.
“Fucking new jacks,” he said. He turned the music back on and rolled the windows up. Collecting his sunglasses, he settled them back over his eyes. Bradley made another sly glance backward. He laughed out loud as he pulled away, his tires squealing defiantly as he stared at the cop in his rearview.
###
All right, on second thought, perhaps I should begin with Carolina Velez. She moved around the diner with grace, her comfortable white sneakers gliding on the faded tile flooring, a trim body maneuvering between tables with ease. Carolina disappeared into the kitchen just as the door opened and the bell affixed to the frame announced the entrance of a customer. She dropped the ticket and turned like a ballerina to exit the kitchen.
Coming through the doorway, Carolina greeted a face she’d never seen before. She was accustomed to strange faces, as many people came through from their mountain adventures, but the face she met sat upon a body encompassed in a blue uniform and bulky police equipment. Both the uniform and the equipment looked impeccably new. A metal badge was pinned over the left breast of the turtle shell-like vest and a name tag beneath the badge read: ELLIS. Carolina looked at the cop’s face, which was pleasant, dull, and fleshy. After giving him a thorough once over, she glanced toward the rear of the diner where she had seated the other cop.
“Are you with him?” she asked.
Officer Ellis turned his head at the same time and they both saw the other man in uniform looking back at them. They looked back at one another and their eyes met. He smiled bleakly at her and nodded.
“Go on back, then. I’ll bring you a menu.”
She watched Officer Ellis walk away, ambling with all the equipment affixed to his belt. His gait was awkward as he moved past some of the tables, trying to avoid knocking into them. Carolina allowed him to arrive at the faraway table before she scooped up a menu and followed him. She overheard the conversation as she approached.
“So, I wrote a couple of movers earlier. Do you want to set up and take some speeders after dinner? Maybe we can get a DWI,” Officer Ellis said.
The other cop, one that Carolina was familiar with, lounged in the booth and stared ahead. He was much older with worn creases on his face and a spark of silver beneath his dark hair. The grays were also slowly invading his thin, manicured mustache. He looked up and met Carolina’s gaze. “Oh hey, Carol.”
“Good evening, Officer Bell.” And then, handing the menu to the younger cop, she added. “Here you go.”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” the older officer said.
Carolina sighed and gave him a warm smile. “Yes, I’m sorry. How are you, Hugh?”
“Thank you, my dad was Officer Bell. This, my dear, is Mike Ellis.”
Mike looked up at Carolina, and their eyes met for the second time. He looked at her differently than he had a few moments earlier. His eyes wandered from her face to her neck, then back up.
“I’m Carolina,” she said. “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have coffee,” Hugh said.
Mike looked back to the menu. Carolina saw his eyes frantically pour over the page. He mumbled to himself and looked back at her. “A Coke?”
She nodded and turned precisely on her heel. As she moved away, she heard Hugh say, “She’s a nice girl.” The words made her smile. She collected the beverages and returned directly.
“If you don’t, I’ll ask her out myself,” she heard Hugh say. He looked up and saw Carolina approaching. “You are too quick!”
Carolina’s whole face reddened. Hugh’s mustache curled up with his smile. The whole of his big, round face beamed. Moving closer to him as she placed the coffee on the table, he was as tall as she was standing. Hugh scooped the coffee closer with his large hand and then reached for the big canister of sugar lined up with the Heinz bottle and the salt and pepper shakers.
Carolina put the plastic cup filled with ice and Coke in front of Mike. She slid a straw from her apron and set it next to the cup. Mike reached for it as she let go, their hands brushed ever so close together. He pulled his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove, leaving the straw where it was. Carolina’s hand hovered in place for a second, her mind dissecting the reaction.
“So, what’s for dinner?” she asked.
Mike dove his face back into the menu. Hugh stared at him with exaggerated contempt.
“It’s a diner menu. They have whatever you want,” Hugh said. He looked up at Carolina and smiled.
She made her eyes wide and rolled them away, a toothy grin sliding across her mouth. Mike remained invested in the menu, so Carolina focused on Hugh.
“And what are you going to have?”
“Well,” Hugh said. “It’s Thursday so I’ll have…”
“The meatloaf?” she said with a laugh.
“How did you know?” Hugh mimed shock.
“You always get the meatloaf.” Carolina made a show of writing the order on her notepad.
Mike looked up at Hugh, and then at Carolina. She now looked over at Mike and rolled her eyes.
“He gets the meatloaf every time,” she said.
“It’s not every time; just on Thursdays. Sometimes Tuesdays, too. It's a pretty okay meatloaf.”
Mike’s face scrunched into puzzled bemusement, and then he went back to the menu.
“I think I’ll have…” he said. “I think I’ll have a happy waitress.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” Hugh said. “I’d like two.” He laughed heartily.
Carolina smiled broadly. She brought her notepad up and scribbled Mike’s selection. She looked at Hugh. He winked at her and smiled. She collected both menus and glanced at Mike, who was blankly gazing at her. He seemed to be staring at her chest. Carolina’s smile faded into a placid, stone contentment as she pivoted and marched off to the kitchen.
“Well done, my boy,” Hugh said. She could hear him although he was whispering. “If you were any tighter, you might have ripped in half.”
She did not hear Mike’s response. She passed into the kitchen and dropped the ticket for the cook before returning to the counter. From this distance, she could not hear the two cops chattering away, but as she looked on, Carolina could see the animation in Hugh’s gestures and the low cock of Mike’s head. She frowned toward them, her thoughts turning to anger at the odd younger cop. The obvious way he had been staring at her breasts and how awkward he had been with her in general. She decided she did not like him. The older cop, Hugh, flirted in an overt, comical way. He was a character, she decided. Mike, the younger cop, was a creep.
The bell rang inside the kitchen, and she slid in the door and slipped out quickly carrying two plates. As she moved closer, she was able to pick up the exchange between the two men.
“I’m not really concerned about getting together with a girl right now,” Mike said. “I need to be good at this job.”
“Quite the opposite,” Hugh said. “If you go after a girl, you won’t take this job so seriously. Take things as they come. Life will throw so much at you, but you have to choose what to go after. If you don’t, they just pass you by. Then you just look back on the things that were. Your old man grabbed onto everything he could. He had a great life and a great career.”
Hugh saw Carolina approach, and as his eyes migrated up, a smile popped onto his face. Mike turned around suddenly and looked at her face as she dispersed the meals.
“Do you have a moment to sit?” Hugh asked her.
Carolina shifted her weight, looked at Mike, and then at the entrance to the diner. Uncomfortably, she turned back. “I have some side work to do.”
Hugh grabbed an unoccupied chair from a nearby table, his long arms reaching with little effort, and pulled it up.
“Come on, you probably haven’t had a break in hours. I’ll watch the door for you. If someone comes in, I’ll tell them to go away.”
Carolina shook her head but found herself lowering into the chair. She sat, her posture ramrod straight. She whispered out loud to herself, “Sure.”
“So, I’ve been coming to this diner for more than twenty years. You’ve only been here for the last month or so. Tell me about yourself.”
Carolina looked at Hugh genially. “My parents moved up here a couple years ago. They always had a wild dream to run a farm.”
“Which farm?” Mike asked.
She glanced at him. “Never really came together for them. At least not the way they thought it would. Who can ever explain the dreams people have?”
“And you?” Hugh asked.
“I was in school when they made this decision. I spent a little time at college but followed them up here a couple months ago. I put school behind me for a while.”
“What did you study?” Mike said.
“Hospitality mostly.”
“So, this is your graduate seminar?” Hugh asked. He opened his big arms toward the whole diner.
Carolina laughed with some unease. “You could say that. I like it up here in the Catskills. It’s slow. Peaceful.”
“Not like the Big City?” Hugh said. He mimed air quotes for her.
“A lot different. I feel safe here.”
“Well, you have us around,” Hugh said. “I’ve been on these mean streets for eighteen years, and my old man was a cop before that.”
Carolina warmed her smile. “You’re sort of a legacy.”
“Well, my partner here, his daddy, was the chief. He’s the real legacy. My pops worked with his pops.”
Carolina turned her attention to Mike, fighting the apprehension in her mind. “Did you want to be a cop because of your father?”
Mike shifted in his seat, and his eyes avoided her, looking up past her. Then he looked down at the table. “I guess you could say it was something I fell back into.”
Carolina twisted her nose and squinted her eyes in reaction to Mike’s body language and his words. She began to shake her right leg, then fidgeted around in her chair as she looked at her watch.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” she said. Standing up, she smoothed her khaki pants. She retrieved her notepad from her apron and tore the check out, setting it on the table. She walked away, deciding not to hear what was said after she left.
Carolina busied herself with monotonous side work. She never saw the younger cop, Mike leave the diner. Hugh approached with the check in his hand.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said.
“About what?” Carolina said. She thought she sounded innocent.
“I’m trying to open the kid up. Thought it’d be nice for him to have some human contact. The truth is, I don’t know a lot about him. He just showed up about nine months ago, and the department hired him.”
“I thought his father was the chief?”
“Chief Charlie died more than seven years ago. Mike was away at some private school or something. The last time I saw him was at the funeral.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“It was sudden, and I think it really affected Mike that he wasn’t here. Chief Charlie was a good man. I think Mike just wants to prove himself as a police officer. It’s the only thing in his mind.”
“Was his father very demanding?”
“Chief Charlie was all business, a cop’s cop. I don’t know if Mike ever saw that.”
“So, what does he have to prove? That he’s worthy?”
“For some reason, I think he wants to show that he’s not the same. But the truth is, he’s so much like his father. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
